


show me your heart

by theonlytwin



Series: darkest heart [4]
Category: Les Misérables (Dallas 2014), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 10:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10614891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonlytwin/pseuds/theonlytwin
Summary: He reads about the SCOTUS decision because Sandoval leaves the paper on her desk at an angle.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ken Paxton, Texas Attorney-General, [is a bit of a prick.](http://talkingpointsmemo.com/livewire/ken-paxton-texas-gay-marriage)

He reads about the SCOTUS decision because Sandoval leaves the paper on her desk at an angle. There’s a photo of a pair of elderly men in suits, surrounded by photographers. They’re kissing.

He doesn't touch the paper, or his phone, or anything.

***

He hears about Paxton’s statement at Dallas Life, the next day. 

“It’s some bullshit,” says Jane, “him pretending like the Constitution says a dang thing about marriage. He’s just trying to scare people.”

“Marriage is some bullshit,” replies Carla. “The number of kids coming in here because their parents kick them out? Rates of violence against trans people? Incarceration? Workplace discrimination? We got way bigger problems than marriage.”

“But we should have the option,” Jane says, obstinately. “Javert, could you get the salt?” He gets the salt from the top shelf for her, and keeps on slicing the tomatoes. “It’s like abortion. Access to abortions doesn’t solve gender inequality. But I’d rather have the choice there than not have it.”

“And it’s fucking dumb that anyone is even arguing about it, because it’s a personal choice that individuals make,” Carla nods. “Fine, OK, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, I guess. It’s a thing I wish wasn’t necessary? Mostly I just wish straight people would stop making their facebook profiles a rainbow, like they’ve ever done a fucking thing for queers.”

“Right? It’s the worst. Isn’t it the worst, Javert?”

“I don’t have a facebook,” he says.

“You are a wise man, Javert. You are a tall, wise, bearded man. Pass me the lemon juice from up there, will you?”

Valjean comes in with couple crates of milk. “How we going?” He puts the crates on the bench, Carla starts taking bottles of milk out to the cereal station.

“We’re good. Oatmeal's done, eggs are ready to cook, me and Carla and your boyfriend are solving homophobia. Turns out you need to ignore the attorney general and not have facebook.”

“That seems very simple,” Valjean agrees. 

“What was it Paxton actually said?” Javert uses the knife to slide the tomatoes into a bowl, rinses the chopping board and takes Jane’s pro-offered phone. “No court, no law, no rule and no words will change the simple truth that marriage is the union of one man and one woman,” he reads out loud, and frowns. “That’s - just wrong. Marriage is a law. Its legal definition is the only definition that matters to the state. The Supreme Court changes the law, then marriage changes. Anything else is personal interpretation, which shouldn't be the basis of an objection to the Supreme Court.”

“ _I_ know,” Jane says. “Paxton’s just a scared old bigot. And he can’t do anything to actually stop people getting married, like I said, he’s just trying to scare the officiants.”

He gives it back, sprays oil on the stove. 

“You know some of them will listen,” Carla takes two more bottles of milk. "Some shitty no-good Christians are gonna use this as an excuse."

Valjean starts laying bacon rashers on the hot stove, Javert holding the spatula ready. 

"A lot of people don't like change," Valjean says, over the hiss of fat. "They'd prefer to think nothing ever will."

"Some of them are attorney-generals," Jane pockets her phone, "which is what worries me."

***

On the DART, Valjean is reading James Baldwin, and Javert pulls up news stories on his phone. Legislators' responses to Paxton. A pair of lesbians turned away because the clerk claimed she did not have the correct forms. A judge in Denton stating that her god was a loving god.

Two young men sit across from them. They are holding hands, Javert registers, heads inclined towards each other, and he glances around the carriage. 

A woman a few seats down has a disgusted face, glaring at them as they talk quietly to each other. Women don’t often begin verbal assaults, though it’s not unheard of. He’s been able to diffuse altercations before, simply by showing his badge. He’s also been in situations where his presence has made things worse. There’s nothing he can actually do until something happens, and it’s not like he wants something to happen, he just hates uncertainty. 

The woman catches his eye, looks away. He glances at his phone again. Valjean turns a page. The young men do not notice him, watching from under his brows, checking around the carriage for signs of aggression.  
Valjean nudges him, tilts his book toward Javert, indicates a passage with his thumb. _Well, this is, after all,_ he reads _, but another way of observing that it is exceedingly difficult for most of us to discard the assumptions of the society in which we were born, in which we live, to which we owe our identities; very difficult to defeat the trap of circumstance, which is, also, the web of safety; virtually impossible, if not completely impossible, to envision the future, except in those terms which we think we already know. Most of us are about as eager to be changed as we were to be born, and go through our changes in a similar state of shock._

Javert nods. He quite likes James Baldwin, and he doesn’t really like most writers. 

He looks up again. One of the young men is watching them, speculatively. Javert scans the carriage. 

***

When they get home, Valjean makes lunch while Javert strips the bed and starts the laundry.

Javert brings his laptop into the kitchen, looks at his work emails, and then more articles, more wedding photos, more arguments, from all around the country. He shuts the lid when Valjean puts a plate in front of him. 

“Have you been reading comments on the internet again?”

Javert looks at the sandwich. “Is this grilled eggplant?”

“Please don’t get into any more arguments on websites.”

“Of course not,” he says, and smiles. “Only in real life.”

Valjean rubs a hand over his scalp, and looks at Javert, both exasperated and indulgent. “You’re not meant to go around with the intent of arguing with anyone.”

“I _don’t_. I _discuss_ things with people who are _wrong_.”

Valjean laughs a little, reaches out, presses Javert’s hand. 

They eat lunch. 

***

“You would tell me,” Valjean says, when he comes in from hanging the sheets on the line, “if you were worried about anything? If you had second thoughts? You’re allowed to have second thoughts.”

“I worry about lots of things,” Javert tells him, and sits on the couch. 

“Not an answer,” Valjean replies, sitting next to him. Javert’s arm automatically comes up, to lie along his shoulders, he automatically turns his face to press his mouth against Valjean’s skin. 

“No second thoughts,” he says, and Valjean puts a hand over his heart, strokes down his chest.

They stay on the couch, gradually drawing closer together in the afternoon sun, turning toward each other, kissing, occasionally.

“Javert,” Valjean asks quietly, “should we go to bed?”

“There’s no sheets on it,” he murmurs, popping a button on Valjean’s shirt.

“Ah.”

“And it’s the middle of the day,” Javert pulls a hand heavily along Valjean’s leg.

“Yes,” Valjean kisses his cheek a few times, “what’s your point?”

“My point is stop talking,” Javert says, and pushes him back into the couch like he did nearly two years ago now, covering his mouth, sliding his hands up Valjean’s body. 

It’s the same as it was, but it’s different. Valjean still laughs into his kisses, but now knows how hard he can bite. His skin still feels like a strange new gift, but Javert knows where he’s sensitive and where he feels almost nothing. When he shucks his shirt, Javert knows what he’ll see, and he knows to take his own shirt off, he knows that Valjean wants to see him. Javert knows to keep making eye contact as he opens Valjean’s pants, and wraps his hand around Valjean’s dick. 

Valjean’s eyes slide shut then, and he holds onto Javert’s shoulder, hard. 

Javert curves over, kisses the crown of his dick, moves his mouth with his hand, settling into a pace that make Valjean cry out, push up, grab at his hair.

Javert knows, now, the signs that he’s about to come, he can pull back, a little, and watch Valjean spill over his hand, his own stomach, watch his face become beautifully unguarded. 

He’s Javert’s to guard, is the thing. He is Javert’s, and Javert is his. 

He drags his tongue over his hand, over Valjean’s softening dick and stomach, and Valjean laughs breathlessly, tugging him gently up.

He lets Valjean unzip his pants and shuffles them off. He lets Valjean position him, a knee on either side of Valjean’s head, lets Valjean hold his hips and guide him, lets Valjean suck sweet kisses along his dick as Javert stares down, swearing softly. 

He’s really fucking close by the time Valjean slides him into his mouth, and it’s only a few more frantic moments before he comes, Valjean’s fingers digging in, his throat working. 

He sinks back, laying himself alongside Valjean, one leg thrown over Valjean’s, both of them barely fitting on the couch. His hand rides Valjean’s chest, feeling him catch his breath, feeling his pulse drop and their sweat cool. 

“I love you,” Valjean says, fingers folding around Javert’s. “Nothing can change that.”

Javert pushes his face against Valjean’s neck, mutters “Love you,” his eyes squeezed shut, because he’s still bad at this, and possibly always will be. 

***

The next day is Sunday. They don’t usually go to the library on Dallas Life weekends, but they do today.

Greenville Library had its funding cut last year. Valjean put together a petition, with Cosette’s help. Javert and Sandoval had made a collection in the precinct, which Javert let people believe was Sandoval’s idea. Marius had nudged his grandfather, who nudged a mayoral hopeful, who saw the public petition as a good sign, the police donations as a better one, got the library a bunch of publicity, and eventually, secured funding for an extension of the brunch program.

Cosette and Marius are already there, and Cosette hugs them both. 

The Honorable Judge Maria Zayas is scraping down the barbecue. She’s been a volunteer since before Valjean got involved, and recognised Javert immediately the first time he showed up, year before last.

“Gentlemen!” she calls, “Give me two minutes.”

“Can we help?” Valjean asks, and Javert starts picking up paper plates and used napkins before she can reply. 

“Stop that, go inside, everything’s in the reading room,” she waves a knife at him, dismissing. “Go on, you’re not on this roster.”

He drops the plates in the trash bag Valjean found, and Cosette herds them into the reading room. 

The library is full of kids who just ate, reading and talking and pretending to do homework. Sandoval appears from behind a shelf, Amy behind her with a stack of picture books. 

“This is what you’re wearing?” Sandoval says as greeting. “At least Jean got a suit for this.”

“He already owns a dozen suits,” Javert says, defensively, “it’s not like I could borrow one.”

“I think you both look nice,” Cosette says, clapping her hands and beaming. She really manages to look a lot like Valjean, sometimes. 

Judge Zayas comes in, folding her apron up. “Alright folks, lovely to see you all here.”

“Thank you, again, Maria,” Valjean says.

“My pleasure. Got your ID ready? Let’s take a look at this license,” she skims over the piece of paper, their IDs - Javert made sure Valjean got a state ID card back when the pardon was finalised. “Good. Now you have to fill this out - Javert, you’re good at forms.”

While he writes their lives into little boxes, Judge Zayas talks to Amy about her books, and Cosette holds Valjean’s hand. It’s really too many people for the small room, and he can hear kids playing music through their phones, out in the library. 

He signs, and Valjean signs, and Cosette and Sandoval register as witnesses. Judge Zayas solemnly declares them married, and says “You can kiss, if you like.”

Javert takes Valjean’s hand, presses his forehead against Valjean’s knuckles, sighs. 

Valjean’s other hand cups his face. He leans in, kisses Javert’s forehead.

Sandoval whoops, embarrassingly.

***

At 2pm on Friday, after not touching the newspaper all morning, explaining that a family situation had come up, Javert had driven home, found Valjean digging up weeds around the basil and asked if they should get married. 

“It’s legal now,” he says, when Valjean stares. 

“I know,” Valjean says, eyes wide, starting to smile.

“First of all, it’s unlikely but possible someone might start listening to the Thenardiers, and some really enterprising prosecutor might try and lay a new charge of child abduction or fraud or something, and if we’re married I couldn’t testify.” Valjean has stopped smiling, but Javert pushes on. “We would have rights of visitation, if either of us end up in hospital. If anything happened to me at work, in the line of duty, you would have access to my pension, which isn’t much, but,” he stops, now, because Valjean looks like he might cry.

“If anything were to happen to you,” Valjean covers his face, for a second, reaches out and catches Javert’s hand, “I don’t think I’d survive it.” His face creases. “I don’t know if I would have survived these last few years if I didn’t have you.” He shakes his head, “Javert. I would marry you, because I can’t imagine my life without you - not because of legal loopholes and pensions. Do you understand?” His voice is pained, and Javert should have expected this.

“Sorry,” he says, and skims his fingers along Valjean’s eyebrow and cheekbone. “Sorry, I’m not - I didn’t,” he takes Valjean’s hand and kisses it, breathing hard. “I don’t have a life without you,” he tells Valjean, “I thought that was - obvious? Marriage would just be - I already, um,” Javert shuts his eyes, talks slowly. “It doesn’t matter if we get married. Because I’m already yours.”

Valjean throws his arms around him, crushes the air out of him, burying his face in Javert’s neck. “And I’m yours,” he says, damply.

Later, they will go to the County Clerk’s office, ten minutes before closing, and pay $81 to a clerk Javert does not recognise to fill out a form. The clerk will smile. 

Later, Valjean will call Judge Zayas and Cosette and Sandoval, making plans for Sunday while crying. 

Later, Javert will cry too. 

Later, they will have sex, and Javert will use too much lube, and Valjean will bite his neck ecstatically. 

Later, they will sign a form in a library saved by their collective efforts, and Marius will insist on taking everyone out to lunch. 

Later, they will live the rest of their lives together. 

Now, they stand, holding each other. Valjean is warm, and smells of fresh dirt and sunshine, and Javert can think of nothing else.

**Author's Note:**

> James Baldwin is one of the greatest American writers of all time. You can read the whole essay that quote is an excerpt from [here](https://books.google.com.au/books?id=m-gCAAAAMBAJ&pg=PA68&lpg=PA68&dq=ost+of+us+are+about+as+eager+to+be+changed+as+we+were+to+be+born,+and+go+through+our+changes+in+a+similar+state+of+shock&source=bl&ots=alK0_7FFDS&sig=J9BNq9qdbxjqmyvXF_8YY4wgJ_E&hl=en&sa=X&ei=xWqSVYD5F8TfmgXAmYBQ&ved=0CCMQ6AEwAQ#v=onepage&q=ost%20of%20us%20are%20about%20as%20eager%20to%20be%20changed%20as%20we%20were%20to%20be%20born%2C%20and%20go%20through%20our%20changes%20in%20a%20similar%20state%20of%20shock&f=false) and then read everything else he's done, or at the very least, [ this](http://tcritic.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/05/baldwin_zm.jpg). Go on, go! What are you still reading this for?
> 
> Hopefully, including Jimmy Baldwin recommendations will allow people to ignore my cute domestic trash queen crown, because my god, this is possibly the most cute domestic trash thing I've ever written, and I've written some cute domestic trash in my time.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
